I Will Try to Fix You
by justlikebrokenglasstome
Summary: Bella and Edward have gone through enough pain to last a lifetime. Can they fall in love again, or are they in too much pain to see what's right in front of them? AH, AU.
1. Summary

**I Will Try To Fix You:**

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. As much as I would go delirious with happiness, the _Twilight_ cast are hers and only hers. I'm just using them to do my bidding and cause untold misery on some for the most part. But they will get their happy ending, eventually, as was intended.

_**Summary: **__Bella is 22, and her husband Jacob has died. She thinks her life is no longer worth living for, without the man she loves more than anyone in the world to be there with her. Edward is 24, and his long-time girlfriend has dumped him. He has resorted to drinking, and having meaningless relationships with women he doesn't care for. They meet, and slowly get to know one another, as friends and friends only. But can Bella and Edward learn to love again when they've faced so much heartbreak already? Can they fix one another's lives? __And will there be any surprises that will stop them from loving again? _**AH, AU. Rated T for now. Romance, suspense, angst, adventure and pranks!! **

**Author's note: **I really don't have a problem with Jacob. It was just necessary planning and he only had to die because of the plotline. Just so you know, this is based off the love story of Alycone and Ceyx is from the play _Metamorphoses_, and this story was preformed so beautifully, I nearly cried, and it inspired me to write this fanfic. The **link to the story is on my profile**, and if you can imagine seeing what happened, and how Alycone felt, you might cry as well, not that I want to upset anyone. I also recommend listening to 'Fix You' by Coldplay as you read, especially when you see the asterisks *** (**the link is also on my profile.)** Hope you like this fic! - Emma.


	2. The Tears Stream Down Your Face

**I Will Try to Fix You: **

_And the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?_

_Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you._

'**Fix You' by Coldplay.**

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Chapter One ~ Tears Stream Down Your Face: **

**Bella:**

**(_flashback_) **

_**'I **do.' _

_The words left my lips in a nearly unintelligible whisper. I loved him so very much: more than anyone had ever loved anything. He was everything I wanted, everything I needed. He was mine and I was his. _

_'I love you, Bells.' _

_'I love you more, Jacob.' He kissed me then. H__e had me captured from the moment I had seen him in his Volkswagen 1986 Rabbit. Not as someone I would love, but as a friend. A friend that could make me laugh when I was about to cry, who knew my favourite song and who I could tell my dreams. Then the friendship had become more__. He made my day just by being there. It was easier to breathe with Jake around. He looked at me like I was special, and nobody had ever looked at me like that. __Jacob was a gift from the gods. _

_'Impossible.' _

**_(end flashback)_**

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**'B**ella, you can't stay like this _forever_.'

Sunlight flooded the room. I_ hated_ the sunlight - it was too much like _his _smile. He had been the person closest to my heart; not just because I'd loved him more than anyone else, not that I loved my friends and family less: it was because he was the one I'd feared for the most. His smile had made my heart accelerate - the gleaming had lit up my world when it was dark, the brightness enough to chase away the nightmares. I needed him like I needed air. When - when he died, it was like the sun had become a limp cinder in a blackened sky and the darkness closed in - all my fears for my one true love had come true. I now avoided saying his name, even thinking it, because there was too much pain there that I could cope with.

_"I remembered feeling my smooth wooden floor beneath my knees, and then the palms of my hands and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I remembered hoping that I was fainting, but to my intense disappointment, I didn't lose consciousness. The waves of pain had only lapped at me before but now reared high up over my head, pulling me under. I had not resurfaced. And I was underwater for days, submerged for weeks, and then I was drowning for months._

_October ... November ... December ... January. _

_And the time passed, as time does. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. Even when you think the rhythmical ticking has quietened to a sudden, irregular stop. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but passes it does. E__ven for me, time passes. __Nothing is different, and the throbbing pain in my heart always stays the same, like the pain spearing me is an arrow shot from a bow, and the pain has been there ever since the reason for it beating went away." _

'I can and I _will_, Alice.'

I had begged Alice to keep her eyes closed but her mind wide open in her "dreams" - to make sure the nightmares wouldn't overrun my reality. They were nightmares of Wonderland gone wrong; no singing flowers and tea parties and rabbits carrying pocket-watches, but an overwhelming sense of foreboding in the dark forests where the only light was a shaft from the sun, impossible to reach by the twisted tree roots and the lurking shadows that waited to pounce ... it always left me jolting awake, screaming in the dead of night.

My best friend's "dreams" are more like visions. They make her act ethereal and distracted, because the pictures in her dreams are so dazing and disorientating. But with her serene, flawless face and exquisite amber eyes, they don't _seem_ to bother her. Her dreams aren't infallible though. She can only "see" when she's asleep and often things in her dreams are puzzles she has to unjumble, like the night before she met Jasper, she had a "dream" of nothing but him, over and over.

Jasper laughing, talking, smiling, drinking. Her full visions are rare, and when they come, they're distorted and a kalediscope of mismatched colours that are even more confusing than the jumbled puzzle pieces. Jasper's face wasn't blurred - it was one of her clearer dreams, so she could vaugely tell where and when: see the silver-golden splash of moonlight streaming on the paths with the streetlights, making spots of orange; hear the swish of alcohol pouring into champagne glasses, smell the dizzying club smoke. So she concluded it was at night and in a city bar. And they've been together ever since.

'Bella, honey,' Alice said softly, 'I _know_ you're unhappy. I know you're hurting and it's not getting better.' But Alice didn't have a "dream" of _his _face - she just saw splintering ice chipping on a glossed surface of water like an ice-arena, the whirlpool emerging from the depths and then an impending storm. She heard the crashing water of a tidal wave, the smell of the salty ocean, screams of fear and panic, and had woke up, heart pounding, breathing heavily. She was at my home for a movie night when she'd fallen asleep and when I had seen her sweating bullets, I knew she had not seen something very nice.

I looked at her. 'I still see him sometimes,' I whispered, 'whenever I close my eyes. He's right _there_ - behind my eyelids.' Alice flinched - nothing had made her happier than to see her best friend and the boy she had learned to love as much as brother together. They had been close, she was his "you're not small, you're fun-sized" and he had been her "lovable monster who refused to respect anyone's personal space". Seeing me hurt cut her almost as deep as it cut me.

After his funeral, I had locked away my heart and sealed all the memories into something hidden. It would be left unopened until I could bear to look through my broken heart, everything that reminded me of him, without crying. There was a dismembered motorcycle, silver and gleaming that my brother Emmett and Jasper had dispatched and stuffed in a box; Emmett was useless with mechanics, proven when the screwdriver had slipped as he was taking apart the gearshift and gouged his hand.

He'd sworn colourfully and Jasper had laughed and asked, 'what does "asshat" mean?'. It was stupid, it was childish, but it was their way of making themselves feel better. It'd been like that forever, the even square of four best friends had become a lopsided pentagon and even though it had irregular sides, it seemed exciting, not straight and even and boring - our names seemed to fit together. Em(mett), Ali(ce), Bell(a), (Jake)ob and Jazz(per). Now it was that equal square again, and nobody liked it. Too used to that uneven pentagon. Not to mention that that even square was slowly seeming to become an even more distorted triangle as I was falling out of the equation.

They'd put a sheet over his Volkswagen Rabbit classic, the car-shape looking more like a stack of junk haphazardly heaped in a pile in my garage. I had been unable to look, crying broken, racking sobs on Alice's shoulder as memories flashed by, faster and faster - the sound of the car's engine, his husky laugh, the gloating, cheerful arguments, my scream of excitement and fear as I crash-landed. Him carrying me to the ER, holding my hand in his as the doctor stitched my head up. Alice's shirt was soaked with tears by the time I was done and streaked with mascara. She hadn't been pleased, but she kept quiet. Until he'd died, I hadn't realized how accustomed I was to having him within inches of me at all times: from leaning over to whisper in his ear, reaching out impulsively to take his hand, expecting to fall asleep next to him. I missed him terribly.

'Bell, this is insane. You can't just stay in a disheveled stupor for the rest of your days!' Alice said stubbornly, 'you have a life to live. Places to go, things to do, people to see. The world hasn't stopped spinning because you want to follow him wherever he goes and you can't.' I blinked. Alice is my longest friend and she knows me better than anyone - she's the sort of person you think you'd conjured up from your imagination because she's so perfect. She figures you out in an instant and she even knows things I haven't told her. One of the many reasons I love Alice. And one of the reasons she annoys the hell out of me.

Ali had complied a box of other memories that I refused to touch - I had shed enough tears. It's meant to be good to let out your emotions but I had done enough crying the days after he'd died, for his memorial and for his funeral - enough tears to last a lifetime. I knew Alice thought I was being dramatic but she didn't feel like a knife was twisting her stomach jaggedly, round and round whenever she smelt his woodsy, musky fragrance coming from his clothes like the smell of a campfire, but not quite; hear the faint whisper of his past words to her as she lay awake at midnight, see pictures of him flip by in albums, laughing and smiling at the camera, his arm slung carelessly around her - _my_ - shoulders. _Alive_. Tears welled up now as I thought about it. I didn't like to. I swallowed them as none spilled over. So Alice found a box, put things in it, and sealed it with duct tape. She didn't say anything either, but I knew she was thinking it.

Everything was gathering dust and spider webs in my attic now.

'Bella, Jake wouldn't want this,' Alice said firmly. I winced impulsively, afraid to hear his name, afraid to hear of what she was going to say after his name that would make her words even more painful. I wondered if it would be childish to hide my head under the pillow and go, _'la la la la la la'_ as I once did when I was a little girl. 'Jacob loved to watch you laugh and smile. He'd do anything and everything for you - move earth and water for you if it made you happy - that was all he ever wanted, just to watch your eyes light up and laugh like you didn't have a care in the world. He never wanted you to cry - his whole life, since the _second_ he met you, was dedicated to making you feel like the luckiest girl that ever lived. And we still want you to feel like that, Bells -_ happy_. Please get up?' I blinked hard. That was even worse than I could've possibly imagined - because she was right. And she knew it.

'Alice, he's gone,' I choked out and my voice rose octaves into a strangled ranting shriek finished in a peculiar gurgling sob, 'he's gone and nothing, _nothing_ will bring him back. He was my sun, my star, my _everything_, because - because I _love_ him. Now no spell, no incantation, no bargaining with heaven and hell will ever make him rise from the dead and come back, where he belongs with me. I'm not getting up. And if you want to make me move, you're going to have to _make_ me.'

What a stupid thing to say.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

_**(flashback)**_

_**'W**hy - _why _do you have to go?' I said angrily. _

_'Well, Quil's one of my best friends,' Jacob said edgily, 'and my cousin. I owe him this much, Bells - before I found you, he was always the person who made me feel better, a shoulder to punch whenever I was mad, and he never complained once. I should make sure he has all the help he can get.' _

_'Then l__et me come with you,' I said earnestly. Begging. __His hands held my face to the light like it was as fragile as a rose. I didn't know if I wanted to smile or to cry. To smile, because I knew he loved me more than anyone, and needed me as much as I needed him - he would do anything to keep me safe, and to me, that was an irresistible love. Not the kind that just says, "I love you" before the husband runs out the door to work, but who kisses you goodbye and tells you to have a good day, to be careful, and to laugh lots. I wanted to cry because my __heart was breaking by him sailing away - and it would be unbearable if those shattered pieces of a heart could not be fixed if something was to happen. The __ocean was beautiful - __but I didn't trust it. Not anymore._

_'No, Bella, you _can't_ come.' _

_I had seen the anguish it had cast on women, as the waves had killed the men they loved more than anyone in the world. My friend had killed herself after her husband was lost at sea after a shipwreck on his boat - she slit her wrists and bled to death on the shore, unable to live with the thought of having lost someone she could not replaced and who she had loved so __much ... scarlet ribbons of blossoming blood had stained the pale gold sand red from her mangled body. Her face had been so pale in death ... _

_'And why not?' I snapped, abruptly furious. _

_For a second, Jacob glared, but then his face went into my favourite smile, the sunlit one I loved so much. It was bright but it took a lot of effort to make it shine rather than snarl. His face relaxed, but his eyes were curiously blank ... emotionless. The smile didn't reach his eyes - the first smile that hadn't made his eyes crinkle as well, just like his Dad's. And it frightened me. _

_Jake's cousin Quil had suggested __they go on a sailing trip to Antarctica - a six-month voyage to see the North Pole: I was pleading with him not to go to a place were tidal waves and crashing ice fell from the sea fifty feet high like the sky was falling. It was careless, pointless and above all, stupidity. A voyage they thought they could live through. Jake didn't answer, just stroked my hair. And then I knew why._

_It wasn't him he was scared for, it was me. If I went, he was scared I wouldn't survive. Like I knew he wouldn't survive. _

_**(end flashback)**_

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**'_F_**_ine_,' Alice said dismissively, 'Jasper! Emmett!'

Emmett stormed through the door like hell was following him. Emmett's face is naturally set in an impish, dimpled grin - like a little kid caught taking the last biscuit from the cookie jar by someone who he knows won't punish him. Now his face was contorted oddly, set in a kind of fury and exasperation: like Charlie, Em is more a man of action than a man of many words. He's been drag racing in Vegas in a Ferrari, bungee jumped into the ocean, whitewater rafted in Class 5 River Rapids and over a small waterfall and his most "memorable" action-packed scheme was the Most-Betty-Crocker-Apple-Pies-Eaten competition in Tennesee. His expression of irritation meant that was an unusual amount of words on his mind. Jasper was following him, looking calm and seemingly bored - he winked at Alice reassuringly and Ali smiled tentatively in return.

'Bella. Get. Up. _Now_.' Emmett flung my quilt off me, revealing my tracksuit that I had been reclining in for days on end, as well as pair of unwashed tube socks I'd stolen from Charlie's sock drawer - they were an unattractive shade of yellow. 'Bells - are they _Charlie's _tube socks?' He snorted at Alice's priceless expression - her face recoiled in horror that I'd gone from a relatively good dresser to my father's socks. I realized they weren't here to argue, they were here to save me from myself and my disheveled, tube-socked stupor.

'_Yes_, they are Charlie's tube socks and _no_, I will not get up. I've been over this.' Alice looked at the mustard tube socks like she wanted to stamp on them with her ridiculously extravagant high heels but ignored the latter, as Ali tended to do whenever she didn't like what she was hearing and instead pretended to be temporarily deaf. Her amber eyes flickered briefly to Emmett, and his hands took my wrists in an unbreakable grasp - though I struggled, my slim wrists were no wrestling match for his muscled fingers, as I had learnt many years ago when he accidentally sprained my finger in a thumb-war. Jasper grabbed my ankles and like Em, I kicked out at him unsuccessfully, aiming for his stomach or somewhere preferably lower. Jazz gave me an "oh _please_" look as he and Emmett lifted me up.

'Toss her in the bathroom,' Alice instructed, somewhat disgustedly, or delightedly - it was hard to tell. 'And put the tube socks in a paper shredder. Or something similar, like a food processor or a wood chipper.'

'I have a blender,' I said lamely. Alice rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Emmett and Jasper carried me to the bathroom and they didn't treat me very carefully. Em was teasingly swinging me close to the walls and Jazz pretended to stumble clumsily on a pizza box lying discarded and distinctly mouldy in the hallway - I shrieked indignantly whenever they did so, and called them bad words in French. They kept treating me like a ragdoll that you can pull apart until they reached the bathroom door that was firmly shut tight, having been neglected and disregarded for possibly a week or so in my unwashed state. I probably smelt of blue cheese dip, something insanely smelly I had taken to eating recently, on water crackers. The food was easy and accessible and packed, so it didn't have to go on a plate that's leftover smears were likely to start becoming furry in the sink.

Emmett shouldered the door open that was probably harder than a bodyslam and they tossed - literally threw - me haphazardly onto a pile of white towels smelling clean and fresh - hideously. Alice materialized shortly, and flung a flurry of clothes in a faintly denim and cream haze at me and I caught them unthinkingly, a reflex despite my clumsiness, and dodged the hair-dryer I was surely going to slip on that Alice passed through the gap in the door quickly.

I heard the click of the lock as Jasper snapped the bolt into place, and their dim, muffled chuckles. I threw a few obscenties at them through the door. I knew they felt sorry for me, and the pain of my husband dying hurt them too, but I couldn't help feeling irritated at their amusement. Well, it had been four and a half months and they had to cheer themselves up sometime. I sighed. I considered locking myself in the bathroom after I'd washed and then realized that Emmett would use a sledgehammer to open the door if I so much as put a stool against the wood. So I got cleaned and dressed into a denim skirt and a cream sweater.

The house was noticeably cleaner. It had been wallowing in an abused state for days on end - the washing machine was rumbling with an unfamiliar growling as it filtered the dirt off the unchanged clothing that had been lying crumpled whenever it felt stale, on the floor. The discarded, carelessly abandoned leftovers spilling onto the floor had - miraculously - disappeared; it was vaccumed and the stains some wine had caused were hidden with bleach. Everything was dusted and polished, picture frames hanging unusually straight - Ali's tendancy to make everything perfect, even ornaments in height order, had obviously won through again.

Ali and Jazz were sitting innocently in the living room, Alice's eyes wide and Jasper looking unenthusiastic, but with an underlying hint of something - an emotion - that wasn't even like Jasper's usual calm and reasonable behaviour. Not sympathy, or hunger. Excitement, maybe?

Emmett appeared - he was wearing the flowery pinny that he wore for our amusement. He never wore it in front of Jasper because Jazz would undoubtably tease him mercilessly about him obviously being comfortable enough with his manhood to wear a 50s housewife getup, as Jazz and Em tended to do to one another. They were like brothers. Emmett had been the odd one out surrounded by girls.

He hadn't minded - he was always the one egging us on and whenever Charlie would rant and carry on, Emmett would solemnly promise to keep us out of trouble and then would take us indoor rock climbing where you can climb on the ceiling. Then Ali had met Jasper, and he and Em had become friends. They had regarded each other calmly, as men do, and then single-handedly devoured a Large Meatlover's Pizza while watching the Red Sox baseball game as Ali and I watched on in a kind of fascinated disgust as Jasper taught Emmett how to flip beer bottle tops into loosely hanging saucepans from twenty feet away. Jasper snorted with laughter now, and Em gave a model-like twirl for his benefit.

'Jeez, Bells, I bet something died in your airing cupboard. I bet it was a possum.'

'I don't have possums, you _idiot_,' I snapped, but my lips twitched and Emmett smirked in undisguised triumph. Em always made the worst situation seem a little less horrible with his behaviour. He was good at making people laugh, even the type of people who never laugh because they see anything humorous as silly and childish.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**_(flashback) **** _**

_**'I**t's been two months now.'_

_'Two months isn't forever, Bells,' Alice said gently. She sat down on the pier steps, not far from the shore, the dim sunlight falling on her exquisite face, illuminating her black hair with entwining spikes of red and gold from the horizon, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. It wasn't midday bright and it wasn't night-time yet. I envied Alice, because she was beautiful and I wasn't. __Jasper was always watching her. His hand was in hers now, and I didn't look - it was sweet, but I was jealous because she had a hand to hold, and for now, I didn't._

_'I know, but it seems like the longest time,' I sighed, 'I've always been here from daybreak to sunset, waiting for him to return - ever since Alice's dream. I know they're making stops but I'm just worried about that whirlpool, they're so unpredictable and uncommon. But storms aren't.' _

_Emmett stood up suddenly, as unconditionally graceful as I was needlessly clumsy. He jerked me awkwardly aside, a little carelessly, and he'd never let me fall as I did on the pier. I landed as naturally as I obviously could, which was jarring my arm on the faded, creaking wooden planks and slightly missing a wonky nail sticking up. I was surprised. Em had always treated me like an irreplacable piece of breakable china - like Renee's priceless vase that turned out to be not-so-priceless when we broke it when I was seven and found a shop that sold cheap replicates. He had cared for me whenever I hurt myself, falling off my first bike, catching me when I slipped on the jungle gym. _

_He was only two years older, but seemed many more whenever I was clumsy. It was odd that after all his efforts, he would quit when I nearly impaled my arm with a steel nail. Odd that he'd be the one who dropped me in the first place. I glared at him, and then I saw his expression, which quickly extinguished my anger. His face was unlike anything I'd ever seen - shocked and his eyes wide with ... fear. Emmett was never scared, not even when he was ten and went in a Haunted House when one guy chased him with a live chainsaw. Em had given the man his best, "go to hell" look, brandishing his already-developed muscles and the guy had backed off sharpish. Now he was ... terrified. Impossible. Unbelievable. And yet it was so. Then it went curiously emotionless, dead even, but only his mouth held the expression of horror. _

_I followed his line of sight, and saw an oddly distorted, lumpy piece of driftwood, white-washed from the ebb of the ocean and the piercing waves that splashed upon it and submerged it in ice-cold spray. __Alice jumped up next, her serene face threateningly panicked, as her eyes darkening, as they did whenever she was scared or dangerously angry - now all amber mirorred was horror of something unexpected, like when you miss a stair in the pitch darkness and stumble unseeingly, blindly, and wondering if you'll land safely or twist your ankle. The feeling of that same doubt was etched on her face and the dark terror. _

___Jasper's face was carefully blank too, but there was a tense in his posture that was more surprised than frightened. Unlike Emmett, who is an imposing, dangerous figure that you wouldn't want to cross alone in a dark alley - or any alley - Jazz is quietly menacing. He acts like he's seen every scary Halloween/April Fool's trick in the book and just remains bored and unsurprised, like if it weren't completely girly, he'd examine his nails. Now his eyes were raised in confusion. It makes you feel unworthy and somewhat inadequate to Jasper's high standards. It had annoyed me, but now I was more shocked than anything. Impulsively, he put his arms around Alice in a protective stance. _

_'What?' I said worriedly, 'what is it?' Nobody answered. Nobody could bear answering and not even Em wanted to reply. _

_I looked out into the ocean. I didn't see anything I shouldn't. The scene was as beautiful and as scary as always - it was a breathtaking view, but somehow the breath was caught instead of being exhaled in wonder. Like there was something wrong, the perfection was gone and something omnious, unnatural had replaced it. I shuddered to think what as I surveyed the scene with cautious, frightened eyes. There was the ocean, now the colour that comes from a gleaming sunset whose rays are dulling to the peculiar, gorgeous shades. The fading and then twinkling forest branches glimmering with the rapidly appearing stars in the midst. Then I saw it. __I screamed when I saw what it was - not driftwood, but a human hand: a pale, spidery limb dispatched from a body, fingers d__istorted at broken, awkward angles, looking lifeless and stiff as a mannequin doll's severed limbs after it's__ no longer wanted. I could see other pieces of driftwood, more elegantly yet somehow hideously proportioned, longer. Human bodies. _

**_(end flashback)_**

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**'S**o,' I said nonchalantly, but it came out stilted and awkward. 'What's up?'

Jasper nodded at Alice encouragingly, and Alice launched into an excited announcement that was clearly rehearsed, but she managed to sound enthusiastic for her well-memorized lines.

'Well, we wanted it to be a surprise,' Alice said animatedly, 'but I had a dream that you would freak out if we tried to make it a surprise. So I figured that I would cancel the surprising and tell you straight-out. We're going on holiday! I suspect you need some sunshine to make you smile more, and Australia is the country of the sun and the sand - and it's very beautiful there in a non-American kind of way. The people are friendly and the fashion is so beach-fun and summery, even in winter. Australia is always hot, even when it's not. You're going to love it.'

'A _holiday_?' Disbelief coloured my tone but Alice was relentless. 'Why?'

'We're going to visit Jasper's sister, Rosalie. She's an up and coming fashion designer and her brand is starting in Australia. But she's working as a barmaid for a while to ask fashion opinions for the people. She figured to best get 'em in their best moods - sober and as smashed as anything, so they'd tell her they're real feelings on stretch cotton or taffeta; if they like ponchos or scarves, that kind of thing, freely without worrying about friends' points of view and shit. Because they'd be drunk. She's really clever - and well, scheming - that way, and she asked me for some advice. Of course, and since Jazz and I are getting married in spring, she wants to meet the matron of honour and the best man.' Alice smiled winningly at Emmett and I.

Em was gleeful and he was thinking of doing watersking stunt tricks in the waters of one of the ridiculously sunny beaches. He wanted to try surfing on some "killer waves" and do pier-jumping into the ocean, which you could apparently do at these stupid recreational tourist traps. Why was Alice doing this to me, when I wanted to be as far from the water as possible? I knew the answer. Ali was trying to get me over my fear of the water in baby steps. She wanted me to be happy again. I had loved the beach. She would not get me to so much as wallow in the shallow edge of the surf, and maybe build a sand castle there at first, followed by splashing like a toddler in a floatie ring and then she'd bust out in the much-unappreciated snorkling and boogie boarding.

But I wasn't stepping in the water. Not after what happened.

But Alice was relentless, as proven when she flipped open a suitcase stuffed with swimming gear that she had magically conjured out of nowhere. As Emmett wanted to do stunts, Alice wanted to do Australian things on the beach; sitting in the golden sunshine, having beach picnics while eating Vegemite sandwiches and playing beach cricket. Even Jasper was looking less bored, as he anticipated hanging out with his sister at the beach, like they apparently used to do when they were kids. How could I not give him that satisfaction, when he had not seen Rose in three years?

So I half-heartedly gave in, which caused Alice to shriek with unsuppressed glee. She was trying to cheer me up as she flung brightly coloured bikinis at me and matching flip-flops but I was still spiraling downward. Nothing could lift me up like a balloon filled with helium. I felt just like a doll with a fake smile plastered all over my face as I tried to make other people happy when I was so depressed myself.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

_**(flashback) **_

_**'B**ella - Bella, don't look,' Emmett whispered. 'Close your eyes. You _don't_ want to see this.' _

_I pushed past him and jumped into the shallow sea, feeling the ocean submerging my jeans in unusually icy water - it was not the summery cool feeling after the hot, burning glare of the sun and the warmth of the golden sand in your toes, but the coldness seemed ... forboding. Unnatural. Twisted, even. It chilled me right to the bones, and I tried not to think of why that was frighteningly ironic. I went to the other bodies frantically, heart pounding in my throat and my breath was caught, I was struggling to inhale - all the corpses had broken, twisted limbs like a doll whose body has been distorted until it snaps, smashed by the waves, their beautiful dark hair tangled with seaweed. Faces all pale, utterly lifeless and some were face-down in the water so the only feature the body held to being human were the tattered rags that hung on their limp bodies. I recognized Collin, Brady, Jared and Paul. Jacob's friends._

_'The beach,' Alice said softly. Jasper was piggybacking her, her arms entwined lovingly, but oddly fearfully around his neck, her face pinched behind his disarray of honey-blonde hair. My head jerked painfully: there was a body lying embedded in sand, part of the white limbs being washed with the now-darkened water. I splashed awkwardly towards the shore, hoping that the distorted corpse was not the man who I loved more than anyone in the world, to who I had given my heart. I prayed that my heart was not lost - it didn't seem lost, as it was, thumping, racing inside my chest. But there was always a chance that it would, and could, stop beating. Was it possible to die of a broken heart that was not partly suicide? _

_I fell on my knees as I reached the body, I felt tears blossoming under my closed eyelids. I forced them open - this corpse was the worst, folden in on itself, the spine clearly snapped in half, hair spilling on the wet pale-gold sand and entangled with grit. Please, please no, God. I turned the body over gently. It was horrible to hope that someone else was gone, and not Jacob. As I saw its face, I began screaming so loudly I may as well have woken the dead with my piercing, shocked screams. Jacob. Of course it was Jacob. _

_The man I cared for, who I had warned, had loved, and had ... lost. It was so unfair. I felt my heart crumple as I laid beside him, cradling his corpse in my arms, tears casading down my face and splashing into the ocean, murmuring his name as I cried. I remembered his last kiss, his last touch and knew I would never hear his love for me ever again ... because he was gone. I wished I could lie down and die beside him, but it wasn't that easy. Alice was sobbing into Jasper's hair as my screaming cries never ebbed and flowed away, the spilling never-ending, my screams of loss echoing as the sun vanished on the horizon, leaving me in darkness. The sun had gone out and there was no more reason for anything._

_'I'm sorry, Bella,' Emmett said quietly, 'I'm so, so sorry.'_

_**(end flashback)**_

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Author's note: I hope you like this chapter. It's full of angst but some romance, fun and adventure will happen so we can make poor Bella happier. I chose Australia because it is really is pretty here, even though it's the middle of winter now. I'm not going to specify where in Australia as it is - just somewhere that is usually very sunny and beachy. ;) If you like, please check out my Twilight/Max Ride/Harry Potter crossover. Next chap will be sad too, hopefully not as much, but it will be in Edward's P.O.V. **

**Please review!**


	3. When U Love Someone, But It Goes 2 Waste

_And the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?_

_Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you._

'**Fix You' by Coldplay.**

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**When You Love Someone, But It Goes To Waste**

_Italics _- flashback

_Underlined flashbacks_ = Edward remembering

**Edward:**

**_(flashback)_**

_Three years previously (Edward and Rose aged 21): _

_**'R**ose, I should go.'_

_Rosalie looked at me, beautiful and impatient. She had been ignoring the men gazing spellbound at her undoubtable beauty - Rose is so vaugely unaware that eyes follow her like they can't help it, that it gets annoying. But she's never been more than a friend. I met Rosalie at fifteen- I was never in love with her, learning to love her only as a friend. I had hated her once - she was more like thorns than a rose, clearly gorgeous, but shallow. Rosalie Hale always got what she wanted without ever asking. She irritated me from the moment I saw her too-pretty face._

_'Why?' __Rosalie took a sip of her latte. We were in a coffeehouse in the dingy, indie depths of the city, our favourite café. It had indie paintings on in burnished metal frames and dark gold lamps on the walls. It had been our favourite indie coffeehouse for so long the waitresses with the intricately painted fingernails and bright hair extensions knew our favourite coffees by heart; Rose being their mocha latte, mine being a double espresso, __memorized that Rose was allergic to their strawberry herbal tea and still remembered when we played 1970s music on their jukebox with the neon rimming when we were seventeen._

_One day, that all changed. Our homeroom teacher in the liked to put boy/girl pairings, shuffling the class so we sat male, female, male, female - and the boy sat next to the girl who were like the moon and the sun, black and white. Contrasting but perfect opposites, unmatching. Like fire and water - would the shimmering flames evaporate the pool of water, or would the spill douse the flames?_

_I was placed next to Rosalie. For a year, I'd thought her to be the beautiful, arrogant, an angel but really imperfect. Nice, but as shallow as a pool in the desert. Sweet enough, but as superficial as a doll. All in all, two-faced. Metaphorically speaking. Her brother Jasper I thought more of, he was a friend from the baseball team. He was like Rosalie, coolly intimitading but less frozen and he was less ... intimidating. Rosalie ignored me for a week. Her first words to me were, "you're in my seat. MOVE."_

_'I would feel like a third wheel,' I confessed. I felt like I was living in purgatory sometimes, there was no meaning for anything. The tedium was something I got used to, every repeated day seemed more impossibly monotonous than the last. '__With Rolf ... Rudolf ... Robert ... uh ...' _

_A week later, she was at her locker and a magazine had fallen, spilling bright pages like butterflies displayed in a case that had been broken. It would be just like Rosalie to have butterflies encased in glass: like anything more beautiful than her destroyed; a jolt of colour on grey painted to match, the petals of a flower picked off, a work of art ruined. How I regared her was insane - she wasn't like a vandal. Rosalie was shallow but not malicious, or vindictive, or even remotely nasty. She was actually quite nice, even though her mind was a glassy pool of water with a few surprises. The overall description of her was simply: self-absorbed. I picked up the magazine curiously and a little guiltily. Shock washed through me._

_'Royce,' Rosalie corrected. 'You wouldn't be like a third wheel, I promise.' _

_On it was a black Mustang Saleen S7 Twin Turbo and a red Dodge Viper SRT 10. Rosalie Hale knew cars? It was like Barbie becoming a goth. Unnatural and unheard of. I bought a magazine of_ Car and Driver_ and there was the glossy black and the bright cherry red cars, gleaming sleek leather upholstry under the sunlight that glimmered, airbrushed, on the page. In homeroom, I'd quietly, so quietly she could pretend she hadn't heard if she wanted to, asked her opinion on an Aston Martin Vanquish or an yellow 911 Turbo Porsche. She had stared for a full ten seconds._

_'How would I not be?' I said impatiently. _

_Rosalie had twirled a coil of golden hair around a finger dreamily, fantasizing in the distance as a dazzling smile spread slowly across her face while she thought about cars. "The Vantage's styling is gorgeous," she's said serenely and very simply, "but the Vanquish has got beauty, power and ... soul. It's beautiful." It was the first time I'd ever heard her describe something as 'beautiful'. Rosalie only ever looked at things with half-hearted admiration, a scene worthy of a mere glance to see how breathtaking it was, but she didn't care about things that were considered beautiful, sunsets and flower fields and rainbows, like most girls. She wouldn't look twice even if a unicorn came to nibble at a rosebush, or if Snow White came carrying a basket of red apples. No, _cars_ were beautiful to Rosalie Hale. _

_Rose was still gorgeous, but not as shallow. Teaspoons, dark-tinted glass shopfronts, champagne flutes were what she had once mulled over her perfection in, any mirroring surface that glimmered a reflection of her looks. I knew she was pretty, any idiot could've seen that, but pretty like a sister who you vaugely know is what others think is the most beautiful thing they've ever seen - but she's still a little girl to you. Rose had stopped musing her looks. She knew she had no need; people had always looked at her golden locks and pristine face and known she was lovely as a doll. And always would. And Rosalie had Royce._

_'Well ...' Rosalie said with an unconvincing, yet dazzling smile. 'You wouldn't be the third wheel because ...' Her wind chime voice trailed off uncertainly and her smile faded. _

_Rose's fiancée is what Rosalie once described as "beautiful" but what I thought was arrogance at what he thought was his own beauty. I had seen him kiss Rosalie, but it stilted, like her own indisputable beauty wasn't good enough for him; like he didn't love her as much as she loved him, or she wasn't worthy of his love. There was something that _looked_ like love in his eyes, but there was something else, like dark expectation under his perfect façade. He was the son of a bank manager; the perfect figure who made Rose fall head over heels in love with him. For some bizzare reason I had no means of knowing, and never would understand. I didn't hate him, though. _

_I just didn't think he was good enough for Rose either; Rose needed someone ... cute and ridiculous. Who gave her something special to show her how much he loved her. Something "special" that was "cute and ridiculous" bright orange Gerber daisies. Someone who made her laugh when she was about to cry, who knew her favourite song, who she told about her dreams, and who could complete her fantasy of the beautiful children she imagined laughing while she and her husband chased them around their pretty backyard. She had told me enough times of her wildest dreams, the absolute image of perfection. In fact, it was so perfect sometimes Rosalie never believed it was possible herself. Royce didn't even like this indie coffeehouse; he loved the delicate, upscale resturant he was taking Rosalie and I to tonight. _

_'Because there _is _no reason, Rose?'_ _I said tiresomely. 'Because Royce really thinks I'm "stealing his girl"? Because I'll never fit in with his delicate, upscale family at their fancy parties where you have to drink expensive champagne and wear suits that are hot and pin-striped? Who you can't remember if there's a soup spoon or a desert spoon? When you wonder if you have to stick out your finger while drinking down another beer? That's them, Rose, that's not me.' _

_I was becoming angry - stupidly angry for no reason. T__hey say curiousity killed the cat, but I rather think it was stupidity and curiousity got blamed. If there's a will, there's a way, and there's always a way that Rosalie can make you feel like a wad of bubblegum on her Grant Satin peep-toe Jimmy Choos __in the pounding instant of a heartbeat. __Rosalie made a noise like a cat whose tail has been trodden on, but a fainthearted laugh escaped from her twitching lips - I had known from her golden hair quivering that laughter had been bubbling and she had so wanted to release it. I began to laugh with her. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of ... not everyone wants to be the third, out of place wheel with the "delicate and upscale" social-climbers. I understand if you'd rather inhale your beer than stick your finger out while you drink it.'_

_'Thanks Rose.'_

_'Anytime.'_

_'Bye Rosalie,' I said with exaggerated brightness just to annoy her. Rose laughed mockingly in response. I ordered a malt espresso in a cup and waited with light impatience - I wanted to see how Rosalie would charm her unknowing fiancée into believing the web of lies she was spinning to form a perfect complicated pattern that was surely going to confuse Royce. __She would twine her fingers in her golden hair and look at him up from under her lashes and then smile dazzlingly that it would've dazed a smarter man. And if he didn't believe her, she'd give a doe-eyed look of deep hurt and fake regret that would make him feel like he was the hunter who shot Bambi's mother._

_I chuckled under my breath as my malt espresso came. I turned and crashed into what was a jolt of strawberry blonde tinted curls - in the haze, all I could see was a woman who made me feel instantly better about the world, even with the intoxicating scent of the malt espresso. Her perfume and the hot coffee made the spill on my shirt still burning, but the best smell I had ever inhaled. Vaugely, I could see Rosalie looked alarmed and begin to rise, blonde hair making a cloud of golden in my peripheral vision. _

_Dazzled, I barely felt the burning sensation until the blur of strawberry blonde hair began apologizing, pressing white squares into my hand. Napkins. I looked at the woman and felt dazed again - she was immensely pretty with surprisingly kind, light blue eyes. Together with the smell of her perfume and she was the best-looking, best-smelling thing I had ever seen in quite some time. __She was nicer than any of my old girlfriends put together. Rosalie sat, her eyes narrowed but intensely curious as a smile flickered across her face. I caught my profile in the reflection of someone's glass - I didn't look stupid, just a bit horrified. But Rose must've seen something else that even I couldn't. The woman introduced herself as Tanya. Even her voice was amazing._

_'Edward. I'm Edward.' I held out my hand and she took it. I swear, I could almost see Rosalie laughing. _

**_(end flashback)_**

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**'D**o you like the leather or the plaid miniskirt?'

I ignored her. 'Rose, pour me another glass of whisky.'

'It's called a "shot",' Rosalie said with a Glorious Martyr look of a woman being fed to circus lions for a good cause. Or Joan of Arc. Or someone travelling in a Native American water vessel upstream in an excrement-filled river with no means of propulsion away from whitewater rapids and a small crashing waterfall.

'You can't, Rose.' This made a halfhearted laugh escape from my lips. She was garnishing an Shirley Temple with maraschino cherries. It was an amber-red, the colour of a setting sun just at the break of twilight, the colour of a gemstone, and the colour of Rosalie's eyes in the early morning sunlight.

None of the men who were drinking Irish Cream Bailies to win the frozen heart of the oblivious, beautiful bartender who I doubted they even knew her name (not even the one who was chanting, "a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet") would drink something topped with lemon slices, ice and a cocktail umbrella even to make Rosalie smile.

Even if she switched on the charm - the twining of her golden hair and the doe eyes - so they didn't know what day of the week it was. I wondered if she was going to down the "fruity and refreshing" cocktail just to keep herself sane from the men who were now calling her heart "gold-plated" and to "give them the time of day, love". Rose then poured some whisky into a shot.

'You need to go to an AA meeting,' Rosalie said angrily. The Shirley Temple cocktail was now more of a ruby gemstone and as bright as Rose's glossy cherry lipstick - it looked like a glass of blood than a fruit and grenadine cocktail. Shirley Temple was like a cherub with golden ringlets. You'd have to be comfortable enough with your masculinity to cradle a Shriley Temple cocktail.

Whiskies, which I liked almost as much as double malt espressos, were alcoholic beverages with large quantities of distilled grains. Shirley Temples had cherry soda, like the syrupy cocktails. At least "ginger beers" had the word, "beer" on the end. Rosalie then poured mineral water into a glass and popped in a lemon slice - her blonde hair was quivering, not with laughter, but rage; silently challenging me to dare ask for the shot of whisky over her fruity cocktail or mineral water. I felt a wave of dizziness and haze; blood was pooling into my face and I felt awkwardly fuzzy. Drunk.

'It's legal to go into bars, pubs or bottleshops and purchase alcoholic beverages at eighteen, with what I like to call a Visa credit card. And in America, Vegas nightclubs and Pokies allow Platinum American Express cards by twenty-one. And I surpassed the age limit three years ago.' Rosalie made a hissing sound like a serpent spitting poison.

'Hey, darlin'!' One of the men drinking the Irish Cream Bailies gave what he thought was an enchanting smirk but looked more dazed at Rose's undeniable beauty - even beatific good looks - that looked like the face angel, after being shattered. It's disgusting what men will say to any woman in a bar after a drink. They were done with Irish Creams and while Rosalie was looking beautiful and frightening, like a soulless, but inescapably pretty creature of destruction - like a mythological Siren that drowned men who were bewitched with their lovely voices. Or a creature that burned the world. The men were so smashed they didn't notice her dark, smoldering glare.

Nor her red lips pressing together or her eyes narrowing like all the light had been drained completely. Her lipstick was bright red - it reminded me of a movie where the outlaw reapplied her blood-red lipstick, thus kissing every man she killed. The sort of glare a person who is reading tarot cards that are predicting your death - but is happy about it. I put the whiskey, Shirley Temple cocktail and lemon mineral water into a champagne flute, and downed it - it was bittersweet, as sweet as a cherry and as sour as a lime; ashy, like burned cinders, but with the fruity edge, unnatural. I gagged and spat. 'Blondie, are you choking on ice cubes?' Followed by some suggestive comments. Rosalie snapped, murderous.

'What the f is your problem, _losers!_?' Rosalie is an unstoppable force of nature. Now she had a soda water pump threatening destruction like a musical train-wreck; possessed in her hand like a loaded gun. Like a cowboy pistol, but in a manicured hand. Not on a horseback rider, but on a supermodel-lookalike. A supermodel with a ferocious glare, not a pout on the catwalk. The world was a strange place, but that was the way I liked it. And one glossy nail hit the soda water pump like trigger on a shotgun. It looked so much like a Western movie, I felt like Clint Eastwood would be proud of her.

The soda water hit one of the men straight on target. A perfect 10. Rose turned her attention away, as smooth as a rainbow-tinted oil slick. I was not convinced. 'Honey, you have three options. Option One: go stalk your ex-girlfriend with an karoke machine and The 80s Greatest Hits CD. Option Two: Have the decency to pass out in a gutter somewhere. Or Option Three: cry yourself to sleep with a tub of Ben & Jerry's in hand watching a gushy, romantic chick flick ordered from Blockbuster.'

Cue bent wrist to forehead. When Rosalie's fiancée sexually assulted her, Rose became ... odd. "Split personalities" is the kindest description. Still so charming that you can't imagine a Rosalie who isn't unfailingly beautiful. A Rose with the light shining from the inside out. But then the beauty becomes frightening - the inescapably pretty creature of destruction again. Dark, the light extinguishing.

Her heart freezes solid. The girl who was so impossibly enchanting to the girl who gives you smoldering glares like the darkness has swallowed her. The change is like a heartbeat going from paced to erratic. People still love Rose, but I know she's looking from someone who loves her more than anyone in the world. Who loves her for her, but now she thinks it impossible; like if the sun and the moon were to be in the sky at the same time.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**_(flashback)_**

_'Do you think Tanya will like it, Rosalie?'_

_Rosalie put the ring to the light. It was spectacular - something immensely beautiful for the woman I loved who was as equally beautiful as the opal ring. It had crystals embedded into the smooth gemstone, pearly white and luminescent, that sparkled shots of pink and green and blue light. It had cost nothing short of a fortune, but Tanya was so desirably perfect, the girl of my dreams and I was so absolutely certain she was The One, that the opal ring was worth everything I had ever worked for. _

_I had wanted to propose to Tanya with my mother's diamond ring, but doubt possessed me. __Rosalie stroked the opal that glowed with a golden radiance in the light. It had been a year and eight months since she had sold her diamond ring on eBay, her little revenge selling Royce's priceless family heirloom, but sometimes she still wished she had the beautiful, huge rock glimmering on her finger, with someone who loved her, happily married. She looked a little sad, but turned to me with a bright, dazzling smile._

_'Edward. How could she _not_ like it?'_

**_(end flashback) _**

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Rose doesn't think she's good enough anymore. Her life was shaped to be imperfect and not beautiful; and that was introducing Rosalie to her worst nightmare. She wasn't Rosalie anymore; because what had made Rose "Rose" was gone. We had shared an apartment and the memories of her after were horrible. Awake past midnight; listenining to the ringing chime of twelve, like an hourglass spilling sand until the sand runs out - and time's up. But the clock strikes twelve; and the ticking of a lost love, of a broken heart, of fear, begins over. And just like time, you can't stop it. No matter how hard you want the sand in the hourglass to stop pouring, it continues to spill. That's what it was like watching Rose.

Never-ending misery; she wallowed in it. Like it had come looking for her and she didn't care at all. And that was worse than anything _I _could've imagined. I could remember when her golden hair dulled, and her red-lips went pale, and her violet eyes became as dark as river during a thunderstorm. Becoming thinner, like a doll, perfectly slim, but scary. I found uneaten food in the bin.

Nothing could stir her. It frightened me, worse than anything I can think of, not even when I saw a little boy being hit by a car. I remember calling her brother Jasper when I felt a contracting in my heart, like death was a pounding beat away; like Rose could die in an instant. I didn't want to lose her - I didn't think I could stand it, if I did. Jasper and I put the broken pieces of Rosalie back together.

Our favourite coffeehouse had a dingy, indie bar in the depths of the Camden-style shops, and it was startlingly ... not quite pretty, but the coffeehouse owners loved Rosalie and offered her a job. It soon had a place in Rosalie's heart, despite her bitterness, that was irreplacable. She wasn't "Royce's Girl" anymore and she was proud of herself.

Royce had claimed he'd never been one for liquors, much less a small glass of white wine - but Rosalie found he loved something more than just as sparkling champagne. Vodka, brandy, rum, gin, sherry. He had been drunk that night - Rose had said the tequila scent of vanilla and alcohol on his breath had been horrible. Not one hint of sober.

I found it ironic Rose was now a barmaid, but she didn't. Rosalie never got anyone to the throwing-up-in-the-gutter/stomach-pumped/gang-fight stage. Drunk, certainly, but never to the point where they were capable of getting themselves killed. The only drink she never made and had sworn on her life not to, was tequila.

Rosalie once said she could've had anything she wanted if she'd known what to ask for. Now she has everything she ever could've asked for at all - but I think her life would be complete if she had someone who loved her for her. The only thing Rosalie doesn't have, or particularily wants, at all, is a boyfriend. Sometimes I'm not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.

I pretended to think. 'I like Option Two.'

Rosalie sighed. 'See that girl?' The woman was drinking a glass of red wine - she had blonde hair that would've looked like a splash of darkened sunlight in the rain and had the air of thinking herself gorgeous - by the way she flicked her hair coylyand admired her glossy nails, but she was merely pretty, a little average looking, full-lipped and eyes framed with too-much mascara. I had always been able to read people like an open book - this woman's would surely be self-congratulatory and a little smug. The men were eyeing her, and she was flattering herself into thinking they really cared.

'Her name is Jessica. She's sweet but an airhead. The other day she said her pulse was only in one wrist.' Rosalie rolled her eyes. 'Nice girl. Dumb as a brick, but maybe you'd even like her. You'd end up "breaking her heart" but if it gets you over you're one true love, it would be worth it. Jess is the sort of girl - proof that girls who shouldn't have graduated high school really do exist out there - who gets over men faster than you can say, "maybe this was a mistake".'

'_Rose_.' I was appalled. 'There's not a chance. I don't want to date some girl who doesn't know the difference between tuna and chicken. Or some girl who is just a repeat of my last unfortunate relationship.' Rosalie changed tack at top speed.

'Edward. You're looking through a small window on the world - you're not seeing the bigger picture. Love has second chances. Believe that learning to love again is possible.'

'I don't see you doing that "learning to love again" crap,' I said coldly. I felt a heartwrenching pang of regret as her lips pulled into a pained grimace.

'I will,' Rose said vibrantly, but fiercely - her eyes were like the sun, a golden coin glimmering on the horizon, 'love and hate, hate and love - what's the difference? I know you hate most of my ideas, but you'll love this one - in good time. Blind dating!' Rose was triumphant.

I felt my heart sink like a stone, like it was pounding against my ribs with the strange thumping of a broken meter; like it had been stuffed in a blender and hit on "frappe"; like someone had walked over it in six-inch stilletos. Blind dating? Real love isn't a fake episode of _Perfect Match. _I realized I had spoken the words outloud. 'Try it, Edward. If you never try, you'll never know! And if our quest for love ends in tears, at least we can cry together. It's better to live and love than die miserable, honey.'

But I don't want anyone but Tan---' Her name twisted my heart worse than I could've imagined. Rose's lips pulled into that heartbreaking grimace again - her fingers entwined mine, and I felt her pain for her lost love; a pain that I had endured; even when it seemed impossible, when the way forward seemed empty, like there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

I remembered that I knew now how much that hurt, more than you could ever believe unless you had felt that kind of pain yourself. There is nothing, _nothing _that hurts as badly, cuts as deep, or can last that long. Someone who you loved who never comes back. Rosalie squeezed my fingers.

'You don't know, Edward. They do say love is blind -'

'And deaf and dumb as well.'

'- But what will happen in ten years when you've finally dragged your broken heart up from its grave and realize that the girl of your dreams is in love with someone else until death does them part? Do you know how much that is going to hurt then? It's going to hurt ten times worse than it does now.'

Rose's words sunk in like blades piercing the same spot over and over. Rosalie beamed; frighteningly beautiful, yet terrible. She looked a little smug, knowing by the gleam in her violet eyes that she had won. It was an indescribable gleaming, just as dangerous as her smoldering glare that made her red-lips press together, but distinctly ... passionate. Fearless. Rosalie Hale still got what she wanted, just differently from jewel necklaces and a wad of cash. 'Let's seal the deal.'

'In what?' I said curiously, then wished I hadn't.

'_Blood_. Duh. It's traditional.' Rosalie found a bone-thin knife. She drew a sliver of blood on her palm with the blade that glimmered metallic; the spilled blood, like fiery sunlight, on the silver looked shockingly crimson. The men had eyes locked with the bone-thin knife in pure terror as I nearly, and totally rudely, laughed in their faces. What was traditional about cutting yourself?

Rosalie took my hand and sliced an delicate, shallow cut - it paled in comparison to hers copiously welling blood. She pressed until blood trickled grotesquely down my wrist. The men, now horrified, inched away warily. Then Rosalie took my bleeding hand in hers, staining the skin scarlet. Then she spoke two words very quietly. 'For hope.' The men, eyes popping, made a beeline for the exit as Rosalie pulled away her sinisterly dripping hand, admiring the damage, the blood smears. Jessica looked bewildered. Together, we chuckled as she tossed a hand towel.

'You _freak_, Rosalie Hale.'

'It's part of my charm. I'm irresistable. So ... leather or plaid miniskirt?'

I smiled. 'Leather ... definitely leather.'

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

**_(flashback)_**

_'Tanya? What's wrong?'_

_Tanya sighed. She had been unnaturally quiet tonight. Tanya was usually the life of the party; the light radiating from the disco ball that drew people to her like moths to a bright candle. She would laugh; and people fell at her high-heeled feet like they just couldn't help themselves: she was perfect, everyone's idea of perfection, would be absolutely right on a pedestal. She and Rosalie were those beautiful, rare people that everyone loved, whether they wanted to or not._

_She was the best girl in the world for me. But tonight; the waiter had tried flirting twice, offering her champagne on a gold platter and asking if "there was anything else she wanted", and I wasn't imagining the double meaning behind his words. Tanya would usually flirt shamelessly, then wink innocently at me when his back was turned. Now she was ignoring him._

_What was worse, she was more gorgeous than ever in what I thought was a powder-blue sheath dress. Shiny nails. Glossy lips. I had thought of a thousand ways to propose, none of them seemed good enough. I wanted it to be perfect, but perfection was hard to come by these days. Tanya would want something sophisticated - the diamond ring in the sparkling champagne flute was a winner, accompanied by a red silk rose--_

_'This isn't working, Edward.'_

_'What isn't?'_

_'Us. I don't love you. I never will love you like you love me. I want to, but to love someone when your heart belongs to another is unimaginable ... a heart is something that is not owned unless it has been given. And I've given my heart to someone else. I love him. I want to be with him. I'm sorry, Edward.'_

_The love of my life didn't love me? Never had loved me? Her words were knives twisting my heart; the words spoken so indisputably softly. That hurt so much, more than you could ever believe unless you had felt that kind of pain yourself. I knew now there is nothing, nothing that hurts as badly, cuts as deep, or can, and would, last that long. I loved her, I wanted her, I needed her, and she didn't love me enough to stay. The words were gentle, but Tanya didn't care how they were spoken, as long as she finally said them outloud. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen. This_ wasn't supposed to happen_._

_I was meant to ask her to marry me, to love me forever, so I could be with her forever-she was meant to see the opal gemstone sparkling in her champagne glass, the perfect red rose and accept. The love story Rose had fantasized, the fairy-tale ending she dreamed of, the one she had said was going to be my happily ever after. Rosalie had once said that she had wished her first kiss on a staircase in the rain. Now I knew fairytale endings were a joke._

_I didn't get the princess and Rosalie didn't get her prince. Rose had once said Tanya was like the Snow White to her Rose Red. I had mistaken that she really meant that Rosalie was the princess and Tanya was the evil queen. I felt the velvet of the opal ring box in my hand and wanted to throw it in the white marble fountain, where it would concievably stay for the rest of eternity. Opals were meant to be cursed gemstones, the jewels fallen from the moon. They were more cursed than I had thought._

_Once I thought I had seen Tanya in the park holding hands with a stranger in the perfect winter scene - frosted trees, fallen wintery leaves dusted with the faintest hint of snow melting in the dim sunlight, feeding breadcrumbs to the ducks drifting in a chilly pool that had small waves edged with white. I went back - but the couple feeding the ducks were at a pretzel vendor; surrounded by people in ruffled parkas, eating pretzels, walking dogs, kites to fly in the slightly windy sky, and children with rollerblades._

_Last week, I'd seen a woman kissing a man behind the blinds of the window of Tanya's office; but I thought the woman had charcoal-tinted hair, not the merest hint of strawberry - but the blinds were the colour of chocolate ... and gave slanting shadows with dim light inside. I knew this because sometimes on the way to the coffeehouse, I would see Tanya's blonde head passing the closed curtains as she worked..._

_The evidence had been there all along, and I'd never noticed._

_Tanya had never wanted me, never loved me, and never cared._

_It was true: life sucks, and then you die._

_So many things I had wanted to say, but I hadn't had any words for them. I didn't want to be vindictive, however sweet that justice might've been; but the vengence I was willing to give was to leave Tanya with the expensive bill. Not the final nail in my coffin, but I felt as if I had been sculpted from ice. If there was such thing as a light revenge, this was surely it, giving Tanya over $120 to pay._

_I drove in my Volvo to Rose's flat and let myself in with the spare key I knew was hidden under the flowerpot filled with colourful pansies at the edge of her front door. Rosalie was sitting curled up her white leather coach, eating fat-free boysenberry yogurt and laughing at a comedy film. She smiled, expecting me to find a plastic spoon and a blueberry yogurt tub as I joined her, like I would've any other day of the week._

_'How'd it go, Edward?'_

_I didn't answer. Her smile faded like dimmed sunlight; the brightness extinguished and her eyes darkened. She hit "mute", her glossy red lips pressing, beautiful and frightening; any smile evaporated. Her voice was cold. 'She broke your heart.' She gave a heart-tugging grimace, remembering things she had no words for. Breaking someone's heart was worse than murder in Rosalie's book._

_I told her everything and she listened with a dangerous glint in her violet eyes - they were colouring dark blue like a river during a thunderstorm. I learnt then what she looked like when she was beyond shouting. Then she hugged me; and I could hear about that "cold-hearted bitch" under her breath and what Rose was going to do to her too-pretty face._

_'No, don't, Rose. I love her enough that I want her to be happy.'_

_'_Really_?' I remembered how Rose had sold the priceless diamond ring before it was reclaimed, how she had ruined the King family after the world found that the pristine, upscale, wealthy family, the family who threw charity galas, who everyone admired and envied, had a son who had sexually assualted beautiful Rosalie Hale, who had loved her act of innocent and victimized young woman, rather than, for example, scheming and merciless. Rose had been grimly gleeful. Not once had she shown forgiveness._

_I never found out who Tanya had fallen in love with. I never wanted to know. Because that hurt my heart more than anything else. They say everyone should have their heart broken once in a lifetime; because that is how you grow emotionally. Whoever said that has probably never loved and lost. Never had the person they love cheat on them; never been told that the person they thought cared didn't; never had a failed marriage or a broken relationship, or their husband/wife die._

_Never been raped, never been beaten, never been crushed when they were about to propose. But Rose and I have. We may've grown emotionally, through the tearless hours and the sleepless nights, but it hasn't been worth growing emotionally when we could've had grown in another way. Never have we learnt why we deserved the punishment we got._

_'I'm sorry, Edward,' Rosalie said quietly, 'I'm so, so sorry.'_

**_(end flashback) _**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Note: In the summary it says Edward has meaningless relationships, which is wrong, because I forgot to delete that part. ****To anyone who's read Birds Fly Higher Than Broomsticks (newly renamed to _Once, I Thought I Knew_) I'll update in a couple of weeks. :) **

**(press that button if you like tacos****!)  
\/**


End file.
